


See You In Another Life

by alchemystique



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, non con, trigger warnings: implications of rape, trigger warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What're you thinking about?"</p><p>"Nothin."</p><p>"I've seen your 'nothin' face and that ain't it."</p><p>"S'just... you believe in...wassit - alternate universes?"</p><p>"Daryl Dixon, are you about to get all science fiction geeky on me?"</p><p>"<i>Shut up</i>," he says, dipping his head down to stare at her. "I'm just ...i'unno. Thinkin' I guess."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a prologue to a series of The Walking Dead AU's I've been working on for Daryl and Beth because I cannot handle pain and misery. Hope you like it!

_Life could be horrible in the wrong trouser of time. - Terry Pratchett_

"What're you thinking about?"

"Nothin."

"I've seen your 'nothin' face and that ain't it."

"S'just... you believe in...wassit - alternate universes?"

"Daryl Dixon, are you about to get all science fiction geeky on me?"

" _Shut up_ ," he says, dipping his head down to stare at her. "I'm just ...i'unno. Thinkin' I guess."

"You mean, like, somewhere out there there's an infinite number of Daryl's and Beth's just floatin' through life?"

"Yeh. Kinda. Just - maybe there's a Daryl somewhere out there livin' it up 'thout all this bullshit." He sweeps his hand wide, gesturing vaguely to the whole world in all its awfulness."

"Well, I hope he's happy, but I like my own Daryl Dixon just fine."

They're quiet for a good long while, Beth's fingers drifing across his chest while he breathes in and out, his hand tangled in the golden locks at the base of her neck. 

"You think Daryl and Beth ever meet, those other places?"

He's quiet as he mulls it over, the circumstances of their own meetin' ringing in his mind, a million and two shitty things all rollin' together so that he gets hisself shot and she loses hope and somehow they survive a world gone to hell anyway. "Hope so."

"Yeah." Her voice is soft and warm, delicate little wrist curlin around his neck as she slides over him, and he imagines what her life mighta been like. Rebellious college years out from under the watchful eye of her daddy (she meets Daryl Dixon is a diner off the highway, he's working off a massive hangover and she's still tipsy, and she smiles at him until his scowl frightens her away); her singin career takin' off and her travelling the world (she writes a song about the death of a coked up loser crashin' his bike into a convenience store window, makes him into some sort of folk hero, blue eyes hauntin' her for months until she meets some sheik or somethin' and forgets all about the headline Maggie'd sent her from the local newspaper about a burnout finally outta luck); her first day workin' the ER as a fresh faced doctor, pumpin' his stomach or pulling out bullets while he's cuffed to the bed); her surrounded by clattering, screaming kids while she reads over the morning paper, her eyes drifting over the obits, feeling a twinge of sadness at the John Doe tucked in the corner, no name, no history, no one to say goodbye.

"I always wanted to be a teacher, you know," she says. "Somewhere out there there's gotta be a Beth teachin' grammar to a buncha snot nosed nine-year-olds, some little Dixon boy, smart as a whip with a penchant for trouble."

He snorts through his nose at the thought of himself with a _kid_ , trying not to grin around the subtle way she always tries to remind him she thinks he's smart enough.

"Daryl shows up late for parent teacher conferences, and she's all rarin' to give him a piece of her mind, but they end up hittin' it off."

"Sounds nice." Even her mindless imaginings of another world are brighter and sunnier than his.

"It's your turn."

"Nah."

" _You_ brought it up."

" _Fine_." He thinks hard on it, tryin' to conjure up the best possible scenario, some world where he's not twice her age and she ain't the only bright spot in a spectacularly shitty life.

"Well?"

"Once upon a time," he starts, and she smacks at his shoulder while he grins at her. "You want me to tell the story or not?"

"Yeah."

"Well. Once upon a time, there was a little boy grew up poorer than all hell, lonely and afraid a' most things, less he could kill 'em, just livin' to survive. He spent his life doin' nothing imparticular and helping no one at all, til one day the world fell apart, and he found himself finally bein' useful, found himself a family to take care of and a place in the world. He was still an awful jackass, but one day, after many years of travelling, he met a beautiful princess."

"Daryl."

"Hey, I never said it was you."

" _Daryl_."

He bundles her in close, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Anyway. He met a beautiful princess all full of sunshine and rainbows, and her name was Beth."

She's bright red, head tucked into his shoulder so he can't see the smile he feels curving around his shoulder, and he feels ri- _fuckin_ -diculous, but its worth it just to see her squirm. 

"Princess Beth and Daryl - the boys name was Daryl, though by then he was a mean old sumbitch - they didn't exactly hit it off right away, cause he'd never met someone before who thought the world was good and kind, and that people could be too, but somewhere along the way her bright smiles and silly singin' made him feel a little diff'rent 'bout the world - made him feel a little better. And one day, just when he realizin' he really liked the princess, she was stolen away by a big nasty dragon."

She sucks in a breath. They don't talk about it much, his rage-guilt at seein' the healin' bruises on her wrists, the way he'd found Maggie and her bawlin' their eyes out together right before they told him they needed _tampons_ like that was a damn priority, the realization he'd come to halfway to a convenience store they'd scoped out the week before just off the tracks and he'd wanted to stalk off and kill those men all over again, but she's strong, stronger than he ever woulda guessed, and it makes him _keen_ to know just how much fight little Beth Greene's got in her.

"And Daryl set out after her, all ready to slay the dragon, but she done it all on her own. She wore her battle scars with pride, and even old Daryl wasn't fool enough not to tell her he loved her with everything he had."

"Yeah, after about a year a' hemming and hawing over it."

"S'my story, I can leave out what I want, same as I can add shit. You ever slay a dragon? Hmm?" She rolls her eyes at him. "You wanna hear the rest or what?"

"Yessir."

"Fuckin' _brat_." He's smiling at her as he brushes a hand down her spine, and she shivers a bit even in the warm balmy air.

"And Princess Beth and Daryl finally found themselves a nice little home for their family, tucked away from the world, and Daryl knew he'd never find a better life here or anywhere else, with his little warrior princess by his side."

She hums, warm breath rushing across his face.

"Even if she was a brat sometimes."

He ducks away from her hand on a laugh so she pinches his side instead, shakin' her head to hide the smile on her face, hair fallin' around her like a halo. His fingers press into the skin of her forehead as he brushes it back behind her ear.

"And they lived happily ever after."

He's leanin' in to kiss her when a voice echoes past their room, and with a start Daryl realizes they'd left the damn door wide open and half the house has probably heard him. Well. Weren't like they didn't know he was a damn fool over Beth.

"You two are _disgustin'_ , you know that?" Carl's voice is deeper than Daryl remembers it bein' just yesterday, and Beth sticks her tongue out at him as she tosses a pillow at his head.

"Yeah, you go ahead and repeat that sentiment once you finally get those damn chords right so you can serenade little miss Mary Ann Thompson on that guitar a' yours."

Carls face goes beet red before he makes a hasty exit, and Beth's laughter echoes down the hall after him.


	2. a drumming noise inside my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's late as hell and Maggie is gonna kill her. (Meet-At-A-Wedding AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So, the basic premise of this series is going to be using tropes and oft-used AU's in the stylings of Beth Greene and Daryl Dixon. Some of these may seem OOC, but I've done my best to use the world and the possible changes to Daryl and Beth's lifestyles to keep them in line with what-could-be, based on how their lives differ in each new alternate universe. 
> 
> I've got a whole laundry list of my favorite tropes and AU's, but I am always open to suggestions!
> 
> (PS, reviews are my lifeblood and they make me write faster. You think I'm kidding but you should see the streaks I get on when I'm talking out my stories with someone else.)

She's late as hell and Maggie is gonna _kill_ her.

The rehearsal dinner starts in twenty minutes and it's a good forty-five minute drive from the airport, but it'd taken a hell of a lot longer than she'd planned to change into her dress in the tiny bathroom stall and her makeup had not been cooperating _at all_. 

She thumbs out a text as she's hailing for a taxi, her overnight bag rollin' along behind her, and when the cab rolls to a stop at the curb she reaches for the handle without even looking up. She runs face first into a wall of back, her phone clattering to the ground, and she stumbles out a particularly creative string of curses as the man steps back and straight onto it. 

Damn it. She hadn't even hit send. 

Maggie is definitely gonna kill her. 

"Christ, you kiss your mama with that mouth?" 

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I wasn't payin' attention, I'm so sorry." He bends to pick up the broken pieces of her phone, and she sends up a prayer to the heavens that one day they'll make one sturdy enough for the destructive force that is Beth Greene. "

Should watch where you're goin'," he grumbles, and Beth takes a good look at him - grey jacket over a crisp white shirt and waistcoat, tie hanging loose around his neck, too-long hair half styled into something resembling a style, blue eyes staring out of narrowed slits. 

"I know, I know, I am so _late_ , I'm so sorry." 

He darts a glance over her, taking in the bright red dress and the tall heels with a curious eye, and she flushes under the weight of his stare. "Where you headed?" 

"Senoia." 

He lets out a long suffering sigh. "Yeah. Me too. C'mon and hop in." 

"Oh, but -." 

"S'a small town, girl, ain't gonna inconvenience me to death." 

"Thank you!" she tells him, smiling as he opens the door for her and she scoots across with her bag in tow while he tosses his suitcase in the trunk. He sits as far away from her as he can in the car, and Beth taps out a rhythm against her legs, feeling awkward and especially bored with her phone DOA as the cab peels away. 

"I hate to be a bother," she finally says, darting a glance at her companion, who's been staring out the window, unmoving, for the past ten minutes. 

"But do you maybe have a phone I could borrow for like, thirty seconds? A minute, tops." He tosses a beat up old Droid at her without looking, and Beth taps out a hurried text to her sister. 

_Phone dead, I'm so late, I'm sorry. Be there as soon as I can. - Beth_

She hands it back to him as quickly as she can with a murmured thanks, watching the way his hands curl around it, long fingers brushing her palm for the barest hint of a moment, and she jumps when the phone buzzes almost immediately. His eyes flick to the display and he snorts out a laugh, turning to look at her. 

"What?" 

"Not much of an inconvenience at all, I guess." He holds out the phone to her. There's a new text from Maggie on it. 

_What the hell are you doin with Daryl Dixons phone and why are you BOTH late??_

Daryl Dixon. 

Beth shoots him a wide eyed glance, taking him in again. She's never met Glenn Rhee's foster brother, but she's heard plenty a' stories, and this...does not compute. 

She's heard every name in the book to describe him, and when she'd first culled up an interest in the man Maggie had shaken her head carefully. "He's a good brother to Glenn, don't get me wrong. But he's the kinda guy you'd expect starin' down a rifle at you in the damn apocalypse, not a guy you wanna make friends with." 

"Sounds like _exactly_ the type of guy you'd want as a friend in the apocalypse," Beth had told her primly, always ready to see the best in people. Maggie'd never said he was so damn _attractive_ though. 

He's eyein her carefully when she returns his phone again, blushing bright red, her shoulders the color of her dress as she takes another good look at him. "How you wanna play this?" he asks, and Beth blinks at him. 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as he slides his phone into his breast pocket only to have it buzz again a second later. He hands it off to her again with a snort. This one's from Glenn. 

_Maggie's freaking out. What are you doing with Beth?_

He hands it off to her with a smirk once he's typed out a reply. _Kidnapped her. Flyin to Vegas. Guess we're gonna be real brothers now._

She can't help the little giggle that escapes her when Maggie's number pops up a second later, and Beth grins as Daryl slides across the expanse of the backseat next to her so they can watch his phone together as it blows up. 

_Maggie Greene: Not funny, Daryl._

_Glenn: Jesus, could you be normal for one day, Maggie is gonna kill me. And then you. And then me again. Where are you?_

He taps out a reply and lets her read it over before hitting send. 

_Told you, I'm takin' her hostage. I'll reconsider elopin if u don't make me wear the bowtie._

_Maggie Greene: The BOWTIE IS NONNEGOTIABLE_

_Glenn: Come on man, I don't want to die before my bachelor party._ It goes on like this for another few minutes, Beth chuckling as every bump in the road presses them closer together, his thigh flush with her, their shoulders touching, and then Daryl blanches as he takes in the readout of an incoming call. "Shit," he says, and Beth realizes its the first time he's actually spoken in a good long while. 

He answers the phone with a short, "Daryl Dixon." 

Beth knows he's a good fifteen years older than her, Glenn's senior by ten, but when whoever's on the other line speaks he looks comically childish. 

"Uh... yes. Yes sir. _No_ sir I didn't -." His hand clenches on the back of his neck as he frowns. "Yes sir. No, I mean - yes. Sir." 

He darts a glance at her, eyes apologetic as he nods. "She's, uh...right here sir." He hands her the phone with a horrified look on his face, already sliding away to press against the far side of the seat, far away as he can get. Beth's side itches as the warmth leaves her. 

"This is Beth." 

"Beth Anne Greene, you're gonna give your poor sister a heart attack." 

"Oh! Hey...daddy." 

"You had your fun with her. Now tell me how far out you are, so I can get started on damage control." 

She takes a glance out the window until she sees a sign on the highway. "We're about twenty minutes away. I'm really sorry, daddy, I figured I'd have plenty a' time but with that storm headin' North we got delayed for like two hours." 

"Just...get here as soon as you can. Maggie'll survive you being late. Arriving with Daryl Dixon, however, might be another story." 

"Oh, we didn't come together, just a lucky coincidence we -." 

"You can tell me all about it later, honey." 

"Yeah. Okay. Sure." 

"Oh, one other thing?" She hums against the phone. "You tell that Dixon boy he calls me 'sir' one more time I'll brain him with one of Maggie's discarded shoe choices." 

Beth doesn't bite back the snicker. "Yes sir." 

"Why, you little -." 

She hangs up before he can get a reply in, and nudges Daryl's shoulder with a grin. "My family's gonna kill you," she tells him on a grin. "Maggie probably thinks we've been shackin' up in secret for months or somethin', and I'm pretty sure my daddy suspects you're using 'sir' for every time you've ever had an inappropriate thought about me." 

His ears go red and Beth blinks at him for a moment. 

Shit. 

Had he? 

"Weddings are boring as all get out, so...how do _you_ wanna play this?"

His grin is curious and warm as he darts his gaze up at her, and he types something out before handing the phone off to her, smile going mischeivious. "Think that'll cause a stir?" Beth's laugh is loud and bright as she hits send. 

\-----

She’s barely out the door of the phone store when her shiny new iPhone buzzes, and an unknown number pops up with a text message.

_This was way more fun b4 I know u had three older brothers_

She stops where she’s standing, carefully glancing around the strip mall before she saves the contact in her address book before tapping out a reply.

_Jokes on you. Got five of them._

The wedding is tomorrow, and Beth knows the boys are all workin’ off killer hangovers - from the state of Maggie’s phone last night, they’d gotten Glenn well and truly lit.

_Thanks for the heads up_

There’s something about Daryl Dixon that Beth likes, but she can’t put her finger on it. She knows (or at least, Maggie’s told her) that he’d had kind of a shitty life up until the Rhee’s had taken him in, ornery and terrified at the ripe old age of fifteen, but they’d fought tooth and nail to keep him fostered with them until his eighteenth birthday despite his drugged out ma makin’ noise every other month with social services, and somehow he’d kept outta that life since. He’d gone to some state school on an archery scholarship or something, made it through all four years with average grades, and as far as Beth knew he’d opened up some sort of bookshop in a ratty old building in Queens. 

Last time Maggie had visited New York she’d tried to get Beth to pop over with her, but she’d been recording all week and she’d never made it over. Hell, they’d probably been on the same flight out.

It’s weird to think they’re the only ones who got outta Georgia, sweet little Beth Greene who’d wanted to take over the vets office for her daddy even though she felt faint at the sight of blood, hardass Daryl Dixon who probably woulda wound up in and outta prison his whole life if it weren’t for the Rhee’s.

But he’s different than she’d thought, gruff and hard around the edges but soft spoken and clever.

Beth knows she’s developing a crush, and it’ll probably lead to nowhere fast, but she’s havin’ more fun with him than she can remember having in a long time. 

_U dated a WRESTLER?? Srsly?_

Well. Damn. If her family’s pulling out the old boyfriends for conversation it means they actually like him, and that’s bad news. She’s gonna get their hopes up again, and poor Daryl’s gonna get adopted before he knows it, stuck with all her big brothers larking on him when he finally admits they’ve just been playing a game.

Crap.

_There are times in my life I don’t speak of._

_Yeah, well, ur brothers don’t seem to hold those reservations_

_Just ask Shawn bout his old girlfriend Helen and see how red in the face he gets._

_Maybe after they finish up telling me about Zach. ;)_

Jesus, a winky face? Who even was this man? It’s terribly endearing, really, and Beth is well and truly fucked if she lets this go on much longer. She can already feel the butterflies starting up a ruckus in her belly, and she’s terrified now of walking down the aisle with him ahead of Maggie, seeing him in his smart black tux with a _bowtie_ , feeling his big bulky arms through the jacket, her stumbling and tripping over her own feet like she’s twelve and her first crush is smiling at her.

Damn it. She is so fucked.

\------

Her brothers had insisted on couple’s photo’s for the wedding pictures, and Beth doesn’t know whether to be amused or mortified by the way Shawn had taken direction of the best man and maid of honor pictures, gently moving them around and calling from behind the lense for them to just relax, weren’t their wedding day.

Yet, he’d said on a grin, and Beth doesn’t want to know what their faces had looked like when he snaps the picture a second later.

Daryl’s been a champ though, keepin up with the ruse despite Beth’s suggestion that they just tell everyone they aren’t actually together.

He’d ducked his head and rolled his shoulders. “Nah. It’s drivin’ Maggie crazy not knowin’ how long we been keeping secrets from her.”

“You’re awful.”

There was a hint of teeth in his grin as he held out his arm to lead her down the aisle, and she’d taken it on a blush, trying not to remember the way his eyes had swept over her, dark and heated, when he’d told her she looked damn good.

His toast is every bit as self-deprecating and hilarious as she’d expect from him, and there’s not a dry eye in the house when she finishes hers, and when Maggie drags them all out on the dance floor Beth gulps down her fifth glass of wine.

She’s been sitting with Glenn’s cousins for the past ten minutes, feet propped on a chair in front of her as she rests them, her heels thrown off somewhere nearby, and Daryl is still out dancing, sleeves rolled up and bowtie hanging around his neck, two buttons undone and his waistcoat open while the flower girl keeps pace with him, standing on his toes to dance.

It’s got every woman in the building salivating, and Beth feels an entirely irrational pull of jealousy at the thought.

“God _almighty_ , what I wouldn’t give to let that man have his way with me.”

“ _Jesus_ , Anabelle.”

“What? Like you weren’t thinkin’ it? Beth, c’mon, tell us ‘fore we all expire from wonderin’ - he as good in the sack as he looks?”

Beth feels heat rising in her cheeks at the thought, but he’d said they might as well keep it up. “Better,” she tells them, and they all hoot and holler appreciatively.

A second later the flower girl is standing in front of her with a single peach colored garden rose clutched in her hand.

“Are you Beth?”

She nods, and the girls smile as she thrusts out her hand to give her the flower. 

“Mr. Dixon said to give you this.”

Beside her Anabella and Harry Rhee ‘aw’ at the girl, giving her amused looks.

“And he says he’d like to...for-mer-ly request a dance.”

“Formally request a dance, huh?” she repeats back to the girl, eyes narrowing on the side of Daryl’s head a moment before peeks a look over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot around Glenn’s back as Glenn’s cousins coo adorably.

“M’sposed to escort you,” she tells Beth, and, well, Beth can’t very well say no to that, can she?

But god, it’s a lot of schmoozing for a fake relationship, isn’t it, especially for a man Maggie had once told her had the personality of an overly taciturn boulder.

When she reaches him he steps away from the huddle of her brothers and she cocks an eyebrow at him. “Formally request a dance?”

“Would’a asked you myself, but those Rhee girls looked like they might try to eat me f’I got too close.” He plucks the flower from her hand and tucks it behind her ear.

“You’re probably right.”

She’s surprised when he takes hold of her hand and spins her out onto the floor, surprised when a second later, the music slows, almost like he’d planned it that way, and he tucks her in close, hand warm at her back as he moves them in slow circles ‘round the dance floor.

“You sure do know how to put on a stellar show of romancin’ a girl,” she says, carefully not meeting his eyes, and feels his steps falter for a moment as his hand grips her a bit more firmly. He clears his throat.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ducks his head as she tries to get a good look at him, and he darts a shy glance at her as his fingers drift across her waist. 

“C’mon. Your face is plastered on half the billboards in Manhattan. D’you really think I didn’t recognise you the moment you smacked into me?”

Her hands go clammy as her heart drops into her stomach, and she nearly trips over her own feet as her face falls. Of course. 

_Of course_ he’d recognized her, the up and coming singer with her face splashed all over the headlines. And he’d sure as hell managed to get his fifteen minutes of fame in, traipsin around her hometown with her following after him like a lost puppy.

She drops his hand and steps back, bare feet sticking to the wooden floor. “Wait. No, Beth, I didn’t -.”

She takes off in the other direction, never more thankful than now that her sister had held her reception in the hotel where she’s staying.

She’d actually though he _liked her_. Damn fool she’d been as usual, fame hungry guys who’d wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a celebrity littering a sweeping trail of her past relationships.

She slams the door behind her and shuts off her phone the moment it starts buzzing, and the tears came hot and heavy as she pulls at the pins in her hair, crumbling on the bed as the little garden rose flutters to the ground.

\------

She uses the hotal line to call Maggie in the morning, apologizing profusely for leaving early, congratulating her and wishing her a safe trip. She hangs up the phone before her sister can ask about the scratchiness of her voice, and she packs up her things in a mad rush as she rings down to the lobby to have them call a cab.

Her flights not til five, but she figures she can spend her time with a few surly smokers and maybe try to forget any of this ever happened.

The knock on her door startles her out of her revenue, and she checks the peephole before she opens it.

“Are you leavin’ already?”

Her daddy frowns at her once he gets a good look at her face, and he gets a look in his eye that Beth doesn’t like. 

“Did you and Daryl have a fight?”

“Oh, daddy, we weren’t even together. We were just screwin’ with Maggie, seein’ if we could get a rise outta her.”

“And you’ve been up crying all night because…?”

He cancels her cab and takes her out for lunch, and the story comes out in a rush. He’s heard it all before, the way naive little Beth always sees the very best in people even when their using her, and he listens calmly, quietly, until she’s out of nasty things to say about Daryl Dixon.

“Now, Beth, I know you don’t think you’ve got the best track record with this kind of thing. But are you sure he’s the type?”

She hadn’t been. She didn’t want to be. But everything pointed in that direction.

Her daddy sighed, sliding his phone across the table towards her. “Shawn sent me this this morning. Already working on the photos. Said you might want to see this one.”

“I really don’t.”

“Well. Look anyway.”

She does, pulling it forward to glance down at it. Her brother is well known for taking candids when no one is paying attention, and this one isn’t one of his staged pictures - Beth is glancing at something in the sky, twirling in her dress while Maggie looks on in the background. But it’s Daryl who catches her eye, even when she tried to ignore him. He’s got a hand at the back of his neck, looking especially uncomfortable with his collar all tight and his head is ducked down, a red tinge to his cheeks as his eyes dart up to stare at her, and there’s something in his gaze that takes Beth’s breath away.

But he’d said…

“Boys spent the last five years listening to your sister and Glenn sing your praises to the heavens, honey. Might be he found himself wanting to get to know the girl his brother talks about like she hung the moon and stars.”

“But -.”

“Your brothers said he was a fine sport with all their ribbin’ I don’t know a single man in the world who weren’t at least smitten who could put up with them when they’re hankering for blood.”

“Daddy, even if that’s true, I just ran away. Turned off my phone and…”

“Well, luckily for you, you’ve lived in the same city for the last three years and you know exactly where you can find him.

\------

Cell Block C is catty-cornered along an old row of brick buildings that have seen better days, and Beth feels like she’s swallowed a whole barrel of bees as the bell above the door chimes. The smells got that musty warm smell of books and knowledge, and Beth darts her gaze around at the modge podge of leather chairs and antique tables tucked carefully into the stacks of shelves, the art deco lamps giving her a sense of an art gallery as some classic rock plays quietly overhead.

It’s real nice, almost homey in a way book stores rarely are, and it fits Daryl, in all his contradictions. Beth feels her body ease a bit.

“Hi, can I help -.”

He swings around the corner in a ratty flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, his hair an absolute riot on top of his head, his jawline fuzzy with stubble, and his eyes go wide when he sees her, sliding to a stop with his arm on a shelf of books next to him.

His hand flies to his hair, smoothing a hand through it and making it even worse in the process, and he glances down in annoyance at his shirt, fingering a hole near the bottom with disdain.

“Uh… hi.”

“Hi,” she says, staring hard at a spot over his shoulder so she won’t get distracted by the flex of muscle in his arms. He scratches at the back of his head nervously.

“I...uh...I tried callin’ you. A couple...a couple times.” The way he says it makes her think he’d maybe called a bit more than that, but luckily for him she is literally _the worst_ at keepin phones alive, and it’d fallen in the toilet at the airport before she’d boarded a plane back home. 

“Sorry, I uh… I kinda killed my phone again.”

He nods, staring at her while she squirms uncomfortably under his gaze, and he finally blows out a long sigh. “Look, Beth, when I said - well - what I said, I didn’t know…” his fingers twitch nervously along his thigh. “Shit, Glenn told me what it’s been like. I didn’t - if I’d known…”

“You didn’t. I kinda overreacted.”

“The _hell_ you did, Beth, I woulda thought the same thing you did. I just. I just meant…”

“My daddy thinks you’ve had a crush on me for _years_.”

His whole face goes pink as he ducks his head, and Beth takes a few steps forward.

“Did I ever tell you what Maggie told me, the first time I asked about you?”

He hums low in his throat, shaking his head and glancing at her through his hair. “She told me you were a nasty piece of work and a rude ass to boot.”

His chuckle echoes in the empty store. 

“And I told her she was the _worst_ person I’d ever met at figuring out people. I was always sure Maggie got you all wrong, and I was never happier to be right about her.”

She shakes her head as she slides closer again, almost within arms reach now.

“Course, I never counted on you having a crush _before_ I ever did, but I -.”

He’s got a hand on her hip before she can blink, the other dragging her in, noses bumping close to painful before he slants his lips over hers and _holy fucking hell_ she thinks to herself as he tangles a hand in her hair, pulling her flush against him as his tongue darts out to press against her lips.

_Eat your goddamn heart out, Anabelle Rhee, ‘better’ don’t even begin to cover it._


	3. and by the daybreak we'll be gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord, that dog had scared her, lookin’ like a beast from hell and growlin’ at anything that moved, but one day, despite her daddy’s firm order that they didn’t go too close, Beth had grown enough dumb courage to take him his food at dinner time, getting closer than she was supposed to, and he’d eyed her with whatever kind of disdain a dog could muster before limping out to scarf down his meal, nosing at her hand when he was done in search of more. - (Diner AU Pt I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, this was supposed to be a one-shot but it got completely out of control so I will be splitting it into two separate chapters. Both Beth and Daryl's mysteries are left a bit of a mystery until the second half, and for that I apologize. Thank you for all the lovely comments - I hope you guys enjoy this one too!

**and by daybreak we'll be gone**

The polo is scratchy at her neck and there's a big hole in the apron she'd had to borrow, and she _knows_ there's a hierarchy among the wait staff, she _knows_ , but she's used to the easy-going morning staff, nice matronly women who always have a word of encouragement or an ear for complainin', and this is the first night shift she's pulled at the diner, and the women are catty and rude and very particular about their tables, but they also aren't always the best at their jobs.

And it ain't her fault they'd left her with only two tables while they took it in turns to gossip behind the counter, and it certainly ain't her fault one of Marabel's tables had been trying to find her for a good ten minutes before Beth just couldn't stand it anymore and slid over to help them out. 

It's just not her fault the family had decided to tell her, just as Marabel finally returned, smelling like the inside of an ashtray, that the next time they came in they'd ask for her specific.

Marabel had rounded on her with a crazed gleam in er eyes, snapping at her about scavenging tables or some such nonsense, snatching up all the big tippers with her big blue eyes and her long blonde hair.

"I was trying to _help_ ," Beth tells her, and Marabel snatches one of the glasses she'd been bussing right out of her hands. "I'm _not_ tipping you out, Blondie," she says with a glare, and Beth hadn't even thought of that. She'd just been trying to help out.

She almost trips over Teri a moment later, barely catching herself as a plate goes crashing to the ground, and Teri and Marabel both shoot her awful stares while Teri bitches at her.

"Jesus, girl, _Dixon's_ on tonight, its gonna take forever to get a new plate. Damnit."

She's heard a whole lot about "Dixon" already, the grumpy night cook who takes it as a personal offense if he has to remakes something, and all the morning crew seemed to think he was a bad egg, but he cooked the best burger this side of the Mason-Dixon line and he had the place looking spotless every mornin, so none of them complain too much. The night girls hate him, think he has some awful vendetta against each and every one of them. Heck, after one night dealing with them, Beth's starting to think they might be right.

When her last table leaves she steps out for some air, trying not to let it bother her too much, but these girls are nasty, territorial and downright rude, and she's never ever felt like it's a normal thing to treat other girls like shit just because.

She's also never been on the receiving end of it, but her little town of Senoia had always been nice like that, and Beth had made easy friends wherever she went.

Until now, she guessed.

She's leanin' against the brick at the back of the diner when the kitchen door swings wide on it's hinges, and she watches, startled by the noise, as a man stomps his way out of it, fingers already digging into the pack of cigarettes. He sits, hunched on the stoop, flipping open a Zippo to light it, letting out a deep sigh as he lets smoke roll out of his nose.

She doesn't realize she's been staring until he shoots a glance her way, blue eyes peeking out behind a fringe of brown hair tucked up into a blue bandana. He holds stead on her face until she drops her gaze, and on a rough grunt he extends his arm, holding out his pack like he's offering her the Holy Grail.

Beth shakes her head. "No thanks. I don't smoke." She eyes him another long second, figuring this must be the great and terrible Daryl Dixon.

"Pity. Figured the way Teri was hollering about ya you could use one." He takes a long drag, watching her as she edges a bit closer to him. "Spent the last twenty minutes listenin' to her bitch about some douche didn't tip her out cause his food was late. 'parently that's your fault."

She goes red. "I'm kinda clumsy. Knocked it over on accident."

"That was a _damn_ fine burger I cooked up."

The way he says it, something in the gleam of his eye, tells her he's poking fun at her, and despite the harshness of his tone the little upturn of his lips around the filter of his Marlboro gives her a sense of ease.

"Sorry," she tells him, and one eyebrow cocks up in surprise, like he hadn't expected it. "What, I can't apologize for making you do extra work?"

He shrugs, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as she crosses her arms over her chest. The polo's still itching like crazy. "No one else does."

"Well I'm not anyone else."

He hums, taking a long drag as he watches her. There's a storm rolling in, probably gonna be lots of rain the next few days, and Beth longs for a time when she could just curl up on the wraparound porch on her daddy's farm with her Gibson and stare out at the rush of water as it laid the grass to the ground, thundering on the rooftops with she hums out a tune but... well, that wasn't really an option anymore. 

"Sure you don't want a drag?" he asks, breaking her from her reverie, eyes darting over the shed to watch the clouds form big white mushroom caps.

And it's silly, she knows, to reach out her hand, but thinkin' on her family makes her all kinds of stupid, and their fingers brush as he hands her the stubby end.

She takes a long deep pull, the smoke filling her mouth, burning harsh against the back of her throat, and she feels a momentary rush of light-headedness as she blows it out.

He looks impressed as she hands it back, the calluses on his thumb brushing along the side of her hand, and when he takes another drag she feels her cheeks go red at the weird intimacy of the moment. "Thought you didn't smoke?"

Beth shrugs, thankful when he doesn't push the question. He doesn't seem the type to want to hear all about her little rebellious phase.

He stubs the butt out with the toe of his boot, and Larry gives them both a strange look when Daryl holds the door open for her, but Beth is feeling the crush of the day and her own memories and she merely murmurs out a quick thank you as she heads through the metal door back into the dining room.

She's glad to see Marabel's gone home, and the rest of the night ticks by as her mood sours, but a few of her morning regulars drop by for pie close to closing time. They're the quiet type, but they sit and talk with her while she sweeps up, and they leave with the promise to stop by in the morning for coffee.

Teri sends her a nasty glare when she tucks the twenty on the table into the book in her apron, but hey finish up quickly, and Larry huddles the crew up as they linger, waiting to be let go.

"How's the night treatin' ya, Greene?"

"Just fine. Nothing too different." 

He nods as they watch Teri stalk towards them, folding a towel over her arm. "Well, you girls have a good night, then." He nods his head at Daryl, who's shaking out his hair from the bandana as he slips into a leather vest. "Daryl."

"Night, boss."

Beth reaches out an arm towards Teri, all three of them pause to stare a the stack of bills she's got in her hand. "Sorry, about earlier. I know that table made a fuss."

She stares at Beth like she’s grown a second head. “Yeah, and?”

“Just take the damn money and be grateful for it, _Christ_ Harris,” Daryl mutters on a frown, eyeing Beth strangely until Teri finally reaches for her outstretched hand. She seems annoyed as she huffs out a quick thanks and stalks off, the screen door creaking as she heads out the front, and Daryl falls into step beside her as they follow after. 

“Was awful nice of you.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s me. Awful nice.”

He seems surprised by her tone, but Beth just wants to get home and stand under a steaming shower til it turns cold.

The air is damp and chilly outside, and she wraps her sweater a bit tighter around herself.

Daryl eyes the parking lot, Teri peeling out already and empty save for Larry’s beat up truck and his own bike. “You need a ride?”

“Nah, I usually walk. I’m not too far.”

They linger on the steps for a moment, awkward tension sprouting as he eyes her carefully before nodding his head. “Alright. Night then.”

“G’night.”

She takes off ‘round the edge of the diner, but doesn’t get more than twenty paces before she hears the deep sigh and footsteps following behind her. 

“Least let me walk ya.”

It’s dark, and it’s getting cold, and she’s never actually made the short walk this late at night. It’s not a bad neighborhood, but she shrugs as she turns to glance at him. “If you want.”

\------

She hears the steady grumble of the Triumph thrum outside the diner doors, raising her eyebrow at Dixie, who just sighs to herself. “Must be covering for Greg today,” she tells Beth, as Daryl swings through the door, looking like hell and dragging his feet, sunglasses still pushed high on his nose as he grunts out a greeting.

It’s been a week since she’s seen him, but she feels a warm tingle at the memory of him standing on the bottom step of her building, eyes careful and watchful as she unlocked the front door, and he’d stayed until she’d waved him off through the window, hand flickin’ up for a second before he’d gone back the way he came.

Dixie eyes him carefully as he pushes off into the kitchen, shooting Beth a commiserating look. “Well. I guess it’s better’n nothing.”

The rest of the girls seems on edge as guests tumble through the door, a few businessmen in for an early coffee, a herd of truckers who grumble about late night gas station coffee as they order themselves two plates a piece, the normal morning crowd who usually stop by before heading off to work, and she’s heard a few snarled words exchanged between Daryl and the girls - mostly the girls, if she’s bein’ honest, and she doesn’t really know what they expect outta him when they can’t be bothered to say their pleases and thank yous, but she supposes they know him better than she does, and maybe they used to - maybe this is just they way they’ve gotten used to working with him.

An hour into first shift some finely suited man is _escorted_ out by Larry’s brother Emmitt and a few mean looking bikers after he pours an entire cup of coffee down her apron, but the day just gets worse from there, and when one of her tables makes noise about the runniness of her eggs Beth feels her irritation rise.

Dixie gives her a pitiful look as she slides across the bar, amusement tinged with apology while Beth tosses the plates contents in the trash. 

She _knows_ she looks a mess - hair especially frizzy as they get deeper into summer, flyaways escaping from her braid, her face a little harried as customers get grumpier and grumpier the hotter the day gets, and thats not even taking into account the tackiness of her shirt beneath her borrowed, clean apron.

Daryl eyes her as she comes into view, steam wafting off whatever he’s cooking on the other side.

“Think I could get a number two on the fly?”

His shoulders tense for a second and she’s preparin’ for her own round of hungover, snappy comments, but she watches as he rolls them back, glancing at her own slumped stance and the beads of sweat curling the hair around her ears.

He turns away without a word, and she hears him clanging away for a minute before he returns, perfect plate in his hands as she slides it across the line. “Take this. Good old Terrence is takin’ twice as long as he needs to and all my shits gonna get cold.”

“Thank you, Daryl.” She shoots him a grateful smile that makes the corner of his mouth quirk up as he shoos her away.

“Yeah, next time someone orders sunny side up not expecting a runny yolk I’m gonna start askin’ em to lay their own goddamn eggs ‘fore I cook em.”

Beth’s eyes roll straight up as she grins. “Its a damn shame you aren’t inclined to start a career in customer service, Mr. Dixon.”

“Yeah, f’I was prettier I’d make a damn fine waitress.”

“The best.”

Her table seems satisfied with the eggs this time, even though Beth thinks they look exactly the damned same, and the rest of the girls shoot her looks throughout the morning, somewhere between curious and grateful. She’s noticed there’s been a lot less hushed attitude thrown back and forth with the kitchen, but honestly it’s probably got more to do with the amount of coffee she’s seen Daryl consume than anything else as the heat from the kitchen sweats the hangover outta him.

When the rush ends the girls all shuffle her out for a break, and Daryl swings out a moment later, sunglasses already firmly pressed to his face as he chews at the cigarette in his mouth, bending to lighting it.

He sits next to her on the stoop, and Beth peeks a glance at him as she picks at the apron folded into her lap.

“You look like you had a good night.”

“I guess.”

She keeps her eyes on him, and he shoots her an annoyed look, knowing she’s looking for more than his usual terse answers.

“My brother Merle decided to make an appearance last night. Didn’t even know he was outta the slammer, t’be honest. We uh… celebrated.”

“Oh.” She’s hear a few whispers about Merle Dixon, none of them good - if they’re all right, Daryl’s probably not gonna be around for a while, trailing after Merle til he does something stupid again, gets himself locked up again, and Beth feels a tightening in her chest at the thought of it - bein’ stuck with that kinda loyalty even when your life gets ten times shittier when your family’s around you.

The the anger sets in. God, if she’d been able to walk away, why couldn’t he? He was a stronger person by far than little Beth Greene.

“Hey, you’re lookin’ a little crazy-eyed, y’all right?”

“ _Fine_ ,” she mutters, annoyed with herself. Daryl and Merle Dixon are _none_ of her damn business.

“Oh - kay then.”

The pavement is hot on her heels, long steady reams of heat rising up from the road and turning everything hazy. The storm that’d rolled through had been a balm on the drying grass and the heat-soured population of the town, but it’d been short lived, and now the summer sun seemed to be set on meltin’ them all outta their skin.

“You workin’ tonight?”

“Yeah.” She’d told Larry she’d pick up whatever shifts needed picking, and last week had been a test, but he’s got her pulling three doubles a week now, starting tonight.

“F’ya want I could give ya a lift, pick up a new shirt.” He gestures to the brown spot making her shirt stiff and sticky. “So you don’t gotta walk in this shit.”

“That’d...that’d be nice.”

He nods, conversation done, and stubs out his cigarette before heading back in.

She’s gotta wonder at it. Daryl reminds her of a stray her daddy’d taken in once, a skittish old German Shepherd who’d seen better days, ribs pokin’ out, hair full of brambles and knotted to hell, a limp and only one eye to round out the awful picture, and Daddy’d said he’d been beat, that he was lucky to be alive, and that he’d probably been beat for a while before he’d found his way to them.

Lord, that dog had scared her, lookin’ like a beast from hell and growlin’ at anything that moved, but one day, despite her daddy’s firm order that they didn’t go too close, Beth had grown enough dumb courage to take him his food at dinner time, getting closer than she was supposed to, and he’d eyed her with whatever kind of disdain a dog could muster before limping out to scarf down his meal, nosing at her hand when he was done in search of more.

Two days later she’d been out in the fields with him loping along beside her, and she’d nearly walked straight on top of a rattler laying out in the sun - her heart’d gone straight into her throat when the thing curled up to attack her, frozen stiff, but the dog’d taken a leap at the thing, jaws closing ‘round it’s neck and crunching while Beth screamed.

She’d named him Buttercup despite Maggie’s protests, and he’d spent every night for a month curled up outside her bedroom door, keepin’ watch. He’d never warmed to the rest of the family, but Shawn always called her the Beast Whisperer from then on.

Then one day he’d just been gone.

Beth’d cried for days, demanding they put up posters and send out people to search, but they’d never found him, and Beth knew without a doubt he’d probably gone wild and feral, living off of hunted squirrels or something in the depths of the forest.

She knows Daryl would take personal offense to the idea, but still. She’s seen nothing but warmness outta Daryl, and maybe it’s just cause she knows how to treat a beast that’s been beat down before. She knows plenty about that.

\------

He laughs at her when she almost tumbles off the back of the bike when he pulls to a stop outside her apartment building, stutters out a joke about never having so much power between her legs before and their faces both go a bit red. When she invites him up he pauses for a moment, looking like he’s ready to say no, but she cocks her hip and stares him down.

He waves her on while he swings a leg over, and follows her up three flights, leaning against the wall beside her as she unlocks the door.

“It’s not much, but… well. C’mon in.”

There’s three cups piled up on the coffee table and the kitchen’s a mess, and she feels a little embarrassed as he takes it all in, magazine’s strewn everywhere and her Gibson set up across the room with a messy pile of sheet music shoved onto a side table beside it. 

“Sorry, it’s a mess in here.”

“Nah. Looks nice.” He shuffles nervously while she toes off her shoes and heads off towards her room, waving a hand at the couch. 

“Make yourself at home.”

She hears him shuffling around while she slings off her shirt, tossing it into the hamper while she stares forlornly around her room at the tossed up bedsheets and the pile of clean clothes she hasn’t bothered to fold yet getting high on a wicker chair in the corner, and has a momentary thought of trying to clean it all up, her face flushing when she thinks of Daryl sitting just down the hall. 

This is not the time to get thinkin’ on _that_ she reminds herself. He’s just being friendly. And who cares if his eyes are real blue, or if his shoulders pull at his shirts in a way that makes her wonder what kind of muscle he’s got hiding under there? Jesus, he’s probably twice her age, and not in the mood to be dealing with a little girl with a crush.

She yanks a new shirt back over her head and leaves the room as it is, shaking her head at her own foolish thoughts as she rounds the corner and finds him splayed out on the couch, thumbing through one of her novels while a breeze wafts in from behind her lacy white curtains.

“You want some tea, or something?”

He glances at her over the side of the couch, tipping his head back to look at her. “You got a beer?”

That stupid voice in her head keens at the knowledge that at least he thinks she’s over the drinking age - she’s twenty-five but she knows she looks just over twelve, all big doe eyes and rosy cheeks, tiny breasts and sliver-straight hips.

“I might.”

He trails after her into the kitchen, warm body close behind her as she bends to look into the fridge, returning triumphantly with half a six-pack of PBR, grinning at Daryl while he darts his eyes away from her, ears turning red.

Well. Huh. 

“Didn’t take you for a Pabst girl.”

Beth shrugs as she wrangles one out from the plastic, handing it off to him, sweat already dripping down the can in the heat, and he watches, amused, as she takes her own.

“Also didn’t take you for someone who drinks before she’s gotta work.”

“Yeah, well, there’s plenty you don’t know about me, Daryl Dixon.”

“I’m beginning to figure that out.”

They sit at the breakfast bar, swigging from their cans while Beth turns on the fan to blow air at them, and they’re just sweaty enough that it cools them down a bit. Beth wishes now more than ever that she’d chosen the apartment with the air conditioning, but they hadn’t included the energy bill on their rent and Beth had had no desire to see what kind of bill she could rack up with careless delight at having a cool dry home.

“So...Merle.” Beth isn’t terribly keen on hearing about Daryl’s drug dealer of a brother, but it seems a good a place as any to start the conversation - neither one of them has to be back for another two hours and Daryl seems content to eke out the time with her. She wonders if he’s got any other friends from work, maybe one of the other kitchen boys, but she doubts it. 

“Yeah, well, he’s a dumb sack a shit most a’ the time, but he’s my brother, so...you know.”

She smiles, rolling the can along her neck, and he eyes the movement carefully before his gaze flits down to the paneled countertop. “My step brother Shawn used to tell me you couldn’t choose your blood, even when ya wanted to. I always thought it was silly - we didn’t even share a lick of family blood, but he was the meanest son of a bitch when a boy caught my eye.”

“Bet he spent a lot of time chasin’ boys away,” he tells her, and she ducks her head to hide the embarrassment. She knows she’s pretty, has heard the line enough times now to know there’s truth to it - she’s got a nice shaped face and cupids bow lips and a bright white smile, and her hair’s always been long and neat and bright and she’s just this side of tiny and delicate. But it’s weird to hear Daryl acknowledge it - the girls around here are made of sturdier stuff, meatier bones and curving hips, olive skin and a darkness in their eyes makes men want to figure all their mysteries out, and she’s always wondered what that was like, having a smile that looks like you’re keeping a secret, a sway to your hips that could drive most men wild.

She has a fleeting wonder about what Daryl likes, and squashes it down, telling herself _not gonna happen_.

“Yeah, he sure did enjoy scarin’ em off though.”

Daryl hums as he watches her. 

“What about you? Bet you were a regular old ladykiller when you were younger.”

He snorts through his nose, fingering the tab of the beer can as he darts his gaze away, and then back. “Wait, are you bein’ serious?”

“What, you thought I was makin’ fun?”

He nods, lips curving down in a frown, and the room is silent save for the fan knocking on it’s turnstyle every once in a while. Things almost dead, and Beth does not look forward to having to brave the store for another one. 

“Nah,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “I didn’t spend much time ‘round girls. Didn’t spend much time ‘round anyone, if we’re bein’ honest.”

“Well that explains a lot.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, tossing the newly released tab at her head, and Beth grins back at him. “Shut the hell up, Beth Greene.”

“Sir yes sir, Mr. Dixon.”

“ _Stop_ ,” he mutters back, glancing away from her while his cheeks go red again, and Beth takes the opportunity to study his profile. He’s not really a handsome man, at least, not what Beth usually thinks of - he’s still got kind of a pudgy face and a weird nose, and he’s not really...striking, in any particular way, but there’s something about him. Maybe it’s the way his eyes are the most expressive feature he’s got under those narrowed slits, or the way he can swagger across a room without even realizing most men don’t have that predatory stalk. Maybe it’s something else entirely, but Beth feels her face heat again as she studies him, wondering what it’d feel like to have that stubble scratch against her neck, or what his arms would feel like wrapped around her.

God damn, she is really not helping herself with this.

They talk a little while longer, and at his urging she plays a quick song on the guitar for him. She doesn’t sing.

He helps her back onto the bike with a grin, and Beth ignores the way her heart races as he speeds off down the road even as her arms close tighter around his middle.

\------

Dixie eyes her carefully as Daryl nudges her shoulder on the way through the kitchen door, and Beth gives her a questioning look as she pulls her hair back into a bun. “It strikes me as odd that Dixon is suddenly pulling weekly morning shifts. And coming in looking bright as a daisy to boot.”

Beth has a lot of things she’d like to say about his stellar morning personality - he’s been giving her rides to work every morning he works in his beat up truck and that man is absolutely amazing at communicating sheer misery in nothing more than a few grunts. 

“Guess he just wanted a little more money.”

“Uhuh. Has nothing to do with the cute blonde he’s been spending so much time with, lately.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responds primly, as she ties her apron. 

“Well, I guess I’ll just keep it to myself that we’re all a little grateful he’s tamed a bit.”

Beth shoots a glance over the line to see Daryl already turning on the hoods, and she forces herself not to stare too long when he bends to check the temperature on the oil. Whatever hope she’d had of not forming a stupid crush had been dashed by his friendliness - she’s spent more time with him outside of work than she has in, and _Lord_ she doesn’t understand how he doesn’t have half the women in the state chasin’ after him. He’s funny as hell and smarter than she thinks he realizes, and on top of that he’s got arms that’re probably bigger than her hips, all big bulky muscle and tanned dark skin.

She ignores the pointed look Dixie sends her when Daryl actually greets Emmitt with a good morning, and Emmitt ribs him a bit from the kitchen while Beth hides her laughter.

“Hell, Dixon, you just got in! You already drink that whole pot of coffee it takes to wake you up?”

“Nah, I just didn’t come in to your ugly mug starin’ at me.”

“Yeah, we all know who’s mug greets you most mornings, now.”

Beth turns away before they can all see her face go red, and does a slow run of pulling all the chairs off the table while Emmitt and Dixie no doubt laugh about her blushing cheeks.

They’re halfway through the lunch rush when she hears the thrum of Daryl’s Triumph outside, and shoots a look towards the kitchen to make sure he’s still there before she remembers that it’s his brothers bike. She watches Daryl stiffen at the noise, though how he hears it over the kitchen clatter is beyond her, and Beth tries to go about her business as usual, but her eyes dart to the door as she’s bussing a table, sighing over the mess a bunch of high schoolers can make - worse than toddlers, they all are, and Beth can’t remember ever being so obnoxious.

When the door creaks open she feels a tingle of unease race down her spine.

He’s older than she’d thought, already balding, grey flecks in the bit of beard he’s got growing in, in ratty old jeans and an ill-fitting cutoff shirt, arm holes down to his elbows, mostly hidden by the leather vest he’s got on. He’s the kind of man she wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alleyway, and though she can see the resemblance a bit around the eyes it’s hard to believe this is Daryl’s brother.

Dixie intercepts him before he can get a good look around the diner, shoving him forward to the bartop while he hollers at Daryl in the kitchen, and Beth bites her lip on a frown when Daryl snaps at Dixie a moment later.

It doesn’t take long for Merle to take notice of her, and he stands up from his plate of eggs, slinking towards her with a gnarled grin on his face as she wipes down a table. “Well well well, got ourselves a pretty littl’n, now. Guess Larry’s finally learnin’ what it takes to keep his customers happy.”

“Hi,” she says, her skin crawling as he leans closer to her. 

“Sweet little thing like you, th’hell are you doing in a dingy old place like this?” His grin doesn’t falter as she backs away, and he extends his hand. “Merle Dixon.”

“I know who you are,” she tells him, gesturing to her arms full of dishes as she turns away without taking his hand, and she leans against the kitchen wall for a moment before unloading the plates into the sink.

It takes Daryl a minute to notice her, but when he does he shoves a frying pan off the burner to head her way. 

“I’m fine,” she tells him, holding her hand up to stop him. “Just...just leave it. I’m fine.”

“F’he’s bugging you I can get him to leave.”

“Oh, he’s bugging me alright. But I can handle it.” He seems unconvinced, shuffling from foot to foot as he stares at her, trying to catch her out on a lie. “Seriously. I’ve dealt with gropey truckers and flirty college kids alike, I think I can handle your brother.”

“Yeah, you think.”

“Daryl.”

He nods. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t offer.”

Merle, thankfully, has been distracted by yelling at Daryl through the expo window, and doesn’t pay her much mind other than a few pointed comments about her, and as lunch winds down he and Daryl disappear for a bit.

Beth heads out for her break, carefully pushing the door open a crack before she heads out back, wary of running into Merle again without the threat of Larry to keep him from being handsy, and she’s just about to finally push the door open all the way when she hears raised voices.

“ _Hell_ no I’m not gonna help you! You’ve been in some bad shit before, but this is dumber’n anything I’ve heard before.”

“Aw, c’mon, Darlina, you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid, I’m tellin’ you its a bad fuckin’ idea. People who get involved with this guy tend to end up bloated in a ditch somewhere.”

“I bet you’ve got some bitch stopping ya, huh? Little bit a’ tail won’t approve of your old lifestyle and you don’t want to _upset_ her. Fuckin’ pussy, man.”

“Fuck you, Merle, you ain’t got a damn clue.”

“Bet it’s that cute little blonde, right? Bet she don’t know a thing about what you done before. Sweet little girl like that, never been on the wrong side of trouble in her damn life.”

She hears something crunch against the brick, close to the door, and Merle’s laugh echoes across the back lot. 

“You shut your damn mouth.”

“She scream when you fuck her, Daryl? Tiny little thing like that, sure she’s got a set of lungs on her.”

She hears the same dull thud, figures it must be Daryl shoving him into the wall or something. “I’m gonna ask you nicely, one more time, to shut the hell up.”

“Fuck, brother, learn to take a damn joke. Girl’s got you all keyed up.”

“I think you should just go, Merle.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then a sound like someone is spitting, and Beth practically sprints back to the dining room as footsteps approach the door. 

Daryl is in a lousy mood the rest of the day, and when she invites him inside as he pulls up at the curb he shakes his head. “Got shit to do.”

“Well. Okay then. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Guess so.”

He peels away before she’s even made it up the steps, and when she returns for dinner Emmitt is working the kitchen. He gives her a ride home that night, and when she asks him about Daryl he just shrugs. “Said something came up.”

She gets a sinking feeling that pools in her chest and doesn’t let go, and spends the night tossing and turning, terrified that Daryl is following form. It’s not right. It’s not fair. He’s a great man, sweet and kind and _nice_ , and Merle Dixon is an ass who makes her bones creak and her skin crawl with distaste. He shouldn’t feel obligated to get caught up in Merle’s problems, but he does, every single time, because that’s who he is, because Merle is his brother and she guesses that means something to him. 

Beth doesn’t want to imagine what kind of man Merle can turn him into.

\-------

When she heads out early the next morning Daryl’s truck is idling at the curb, and she squints at him as she leans against the open window. Neither one of them say a word about yesterday, staring at each other in silence for a good minute before Beth speaks. “You don’t work this morning, do you?”

“Takin’ Emmitt’s shift.”

“Oh.” Relief courses through her, though, as he leans over to open the door for her, and he pulls away without another word said between them. 

Things are tense the next few days, Daryl storming around like his dog died while Beth walks on eggshells, until finally one afternoon when he drops her off she rounds on him before he can refuse to come up again. 

“You’ve been throwing a damn good tantrum that last couple days. What the hell is your problem?” He opens his mouth and she shakes her head, pointing a finger at him. “You know what? You can tell me upstairs.”

He makes a noise like he’s about to protest, but Beth just stares him down. “That wasn’t a request.”

“You ain’t my keeper.”

“I’m your _friend_ , and you’ve been acting like a jerk since Merle got back, and I’m tired of it.”

They stare at each other over the space of the seat until Daryl lets out a long suffering sigh and turns off the ignition, yanking the keys out and slamming the drivers side door behind him like he’s _five_ , but he follows her up the stairs in silence and accepts the sweet tea she hands him without complaint.

“So, you bring me up here to stare at me or you got somethin to say?”

“If you maybe wanna stop acting like a five-year-old we could have a conversation like adults.”

“Don’t see that there’s anything to say.”

“You -!” Beth lets out a frustrated cry as she slaps a hand on the countertop. “You are a piece of work, Daryl Dixon.”

“Then stop workin on me.”

“Uh uh. I’m not gonna let you do that. You can’t just expect me to stop caring about you cause you’re being an ass. It doesn’t work like that.”

“S’worked just fine before.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a helluva lot more stubborn than most the people you know.”

He blinks at her for a moment, watching her as she taps out a rhythm against the bartop. “Hell. Don’t I know it.”

He seems to relax a bit once he realizes he’s getting nowhere pushing her away, and Beth feels the knot that’s been curling in her chest ease a bit. 

“What’s going on, Daryl?”

His shoulders bob up and down with a shrug, and he runs a hand over his face before he shoots her a glance through his hair. “Not sure I want you to know.”

“I just told you it’s gonna take a lot to get rid of me.”

“Yeah. This is diff’rent.”

“Just…” Beth reaches out a hand on a dangerous whim, curling her fingers around his while he goes stock still, and he squints at her for a while before he responds, curling his own fingers into her palm. “Just...trust me, okay?”

“S’Merle,” he finally tells her, eyes darting to her face again to gauge her reaction as he continues. “Got himself tied up with a group he shouldn’t. Dealer of a dealer, or something. Guy calls himself the Gov’ner, like that ain’t pretentious as shit. He’s been sellin’ this…” When his eyes dart over to her again, she squeezes his hand to encourage him to continue. It’s obvious he doesn’t want her to know that kind of things Merle gets into, but its something she needs to hear. She needs to know if Daryl’s mixed up in this. “He’s been selling this blue meth. Shits almost completely pure, some chemist in New Mexico makes the stuff. Don’t even know how it got this far, but… Anyway. Merle’s dealin’ for this guy. But they ain’t just your run of the mill dumb as rocks dealers. This Governor dude, he’s into a bunch of other shit - sounds like he’s got people after him. Bad people. People’d kill one of his just to make a point.”

“Are you…?” she can’t finish the question, terrified of the answer. Merle had wanted him to join in.

“ _Hell_ no, do I look suicidal to you?”

“Well. Good.”

He shoots her a look that’s halfway between confused and annoyed, and she notices they’re still holding hands. “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea to be spending so much time with you. Everyone knows I’m Merle’s brother. Don’t want those people thinking they can use you to get to Merle.”

“What, like Merle would care if I up and vanished?”

The look in his eyes as he holds her gaze startles her, and she pulls in a deep breath. Oh. They weren’t talking about Merle at all. _Oh_.

“Oh.”

He seems to realize he’s still got his fingers curled around hers at that exact moment, and he moves to pull away, but she follows the movement, stumbling into the space between his legs as he shoots her one of those skittish looks that reminds her so much of Buttercup. “Beth, this isn’t…”

“Daryl Dixon, if you try to push me away after all but admitting you like me back I will punch you square in the face. Closed fist and everything.”

The gaze he’d dropped to his lap flickers back up, startled, and she places a hand on his knee, pressing closer to him. She’s never seen him more conflicted, one hand clenched in a fist at his side as the other curls over the elbow she’s got leaning against the counter, eyes flitting between her eyes and her lips like a man starved even as he swallows heavily. “Break your damn thumb doin’ that, girl.”

“Yeah, and I’d scream at you the whole way to the doctor, you mark my words.”

“Can’t have that.” Its barely more than a whisper, the words brushing air across her face, and she shakes her head as she edges just a little bit closer.

The fist at his side unclenches, his arm swinging up to wrap around her waist and yank her the rest of the way into him, their noses bumping as she presses herself into the hard length of his torso, and his other hand trails up her arm before sliding through the hair at the nape of her neck. “Beth…”

“Shut your damn mouth and kiss me, you idiot.”

Surprisingly, he does as he’s told, and Beth feels her knees try to give out on her as he flicks his tongue out against her lips. She firmly reminds them who’s boss before she curls herself into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his neck to press herself closer, and his hand clenches in her hair when she lets out a low moan of delight.

When they finally break apart they’re both breathing heavy, noses brushing as they stare at each other, and she feels a spark of delighted surprise when he pressed a string of kisses across her cheek to nuzzle his nose into her hair. 

They stay like that, pressed close while they breath each other in for a bit, until Beth finally shoots a look at the clock on the stove, grinning like a fool as she tilts her head back to look at him. “Ya know, we don’t gotta be back to the diner for another two and a half hours…”

He doesn’t protest when she drags him off towards her room, fighting down a dazzling, dopey smile when she shoots him a heated look over her shoulder.


	4. be not so pale (you will not leave the rails)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s got four of his paintings hanging in her loft, and she’s eyeing a fifth one she’s got up in the showroom, but his work is popular now, and it’s a whole lot of bad business to try and price it down to make it affordable to her.
> 
> She just cringes a bit to think of it gathering dust in some dark dingy basement of one of the “collectors” that run through her gallery raving about brush technique and color wheels without paying a lick of attention to what it’s actually _about_. (Curator AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all the lovely comments - the outpouring of support I've recieved on these is amazing and I love you all! The second part of the diner au is under way, but I wanted to get this out for you guys. Hope you like it!

She’s hanging the last painting when Carol rounds the corner, heels clicking sharply along the floor in that comfortable saunter she has, and Beth smiles as she wipes at her forehead, staring at the crisp pantsuit Carol is wearing as the thumbs at her ratty old CCR tee and the jeans with about ten too many holes in them.

“This one’s my favorite,” Carol comments, her head tilted to the newly hung painting again.

“It’s one of mine too.”

“ _All_ of them are your favorite.”

She glances over at the painting again - the heavy, harsh strokes and the flecks of paint blossoming out from the closely cropped profile of a woman’s jawline, the deep rich colors and the sense of loss evoked within the purse of lips and the deep creases of the paint.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Carols smile is soft and knowing as she shuffles the clipboard from under her arm. “Got a few things for you to sign.”

Beth tilts her head in acknowledgement, studying Carol as she flips through her stack of papers, lips working around her pen as her teeth click against the cap, a hand reaching up to run through her short cropped hair.

She knows she’d be lost without Carol around - she’s good with _art_ and miserable with numbers, and her little gallery runs on the passion Beth has for new artists and Carol’s ridiculous attention to detail.

They’re an odd pair, as far as business partners go, Beth knows it, but when they’d met at the local community college three years ago in the same accounting class, they’d hit it off immediately, and Beth knows they’d saved each other, a bit, both of them drifting without an anchor as they moved on from their old lives. And God, they’d done well since then - Beth has never met a stronger, braver woman (not even her sister), and the gallery has been their baby, growing and changing with them, into this, this great hulking beast of a studio that the artists of the city scramble to have their art shown in.

“You think we’ll ever meet him?” Beth asks, as her eyes linger on the small set of initials hiding off in the corner of the painting.

Carol shrugs as she hands the pen off, index finger sliding along the bottom of the page while Beth leans forward to sign. “He’s a ghost. Think he likes it that way.”

“ _Rick_ knows him.”

"Grimes knows everyone, honey.” She flips a page and points out another line. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’d be nice, considering how much damn exposure his art’s gotten with your help, but like I said. I’m not sure he ever wanted the exposure."

"He keeps sending us stuff, though.”

Carol hums. “I get the feeling Grimes has to rip them from his paint covered hands in order to get them to us.”

“Yeah.”

Carol studies her for a moment, eyes gleaming. “Don’t get your hopes up, is all I’m saying. I know you’re half in love with our mystery man.”

“I’m _not_.” It’s mostly true, but the thing is, Beth can _feel_ every damn painting like it’s telling her a story, feel every heartache or smile that went into each piece, and it’s silly, but she feels like she _knows_ him.

Carol just hums again. “For all you know, he’s some craggy old hermit with zero social skills and a bad temper.”

Her laugh echoes across the gallery. “We already do know that. It’d just be nice to meet him. Once.”

She’s got four of his paintings hanging in her loft, and she’s eyeing a fifth one she’s got up in the showroom, but his work is popular now, and it’s a whole lot of bad business to try and price it down to make it affordable to her.

She just cringes a bit to think of it gathering dust in some dark dingy basement of one of the “collectors” that run through her gallery raving about brush technique and color wheels without paying a lick of attention to what it’s actually _about_.

She shoots the painting one final glance as Carol straightens her stack of paperwork, smiling at her as the fingers of her right hand stray across the empty ring finger of her left, stroking carefully at the skin there for the barest hint of a moment. “Come on. Let’s get you some dinner. Shows tomorrow night, I know if I don’t get something in you now you won’t eat for at least a day."

Beth shoots her a grateful look as they fall into step beside each other, the heels clicking again in comforting silence as they head out to close up for the night.

 

\------

She’s flipping through the reports Carol sent her, sipping at her coffee and enjoying the breeze, when she feels eyes on her, and darts her gaze up, but a quick look around the patio just culls up a few giggling teen girls, a flustered looking woman trying to pry her screaming toddler with a piece of muffin while a businessman nearby glares at them over the edge of his laptop, and a man scribbling away in a sketchbook in the corner, sitting at the only table without an umbrella.

Beth turns back to the reports on a sigh, trying to focus, and not let herself find pointless distractions to keep her from looking the paperwork over. She keeps getting that prickling feeling at the back of her neck like she’s being watched, but she ignores it, determined to get through the numbers before her meeting with a prospective new client.

When the waitress comes by Beth makes the mistake of letting her manners get the better of her, tilting her head up to acknowledge the woman, but her eye slips across the patio and her gaze catches on bright blue eyes a moment before they dart away, as if caught.

When the waitress heads back inside for a refill, Beth gives herself a nice long pep talk, tries to remind herself how _shocked_ Carol will be when Beth tells her she got through everything already, that she _needs_ to stop distracting herself, but the waitress returns and she hasn’t read another word, so she lets out a deep long sigh before uncurling from her chair and heading over to the man in the corner.

He darts a quick, guilty glance her way, arm laid out across the upturned sketchbook at just the right angle that she couldn’t see it.

“D’ya mind?” she asks, gesturing towards the book, and he ducks his head, hair falling in his eyes before he looks back up at her.

“Sorry, Didn’t mean to creep on ya. I’ll stop.”

Beth blinks for a second, confused, before she catches on, pressing a hand to her chest as she smiles. “Oh, god no, I didn’t mean - I own an art gallery, and I saw you over here and I just thought - God, I’m really weird about art, I’m sorry. Christ. I’m going to shut up now.”

He eyes her carefully a long moment, chewing around a toothpick in his mouth, and Beth takes amused note of the fact that he’s got three completely untouched cups of coffee strewn across the table.

“Just wondering if you’d mind, too much, if I took a look?”

He seems wary of the idea, the arm covering his sketch from view unmoving as he studies her, and Beth feels like such an _ass_.

“Jesus, I’m so pushy. I’m sorry. Just ignore me.”

“Nah,” he says in a hurry as she turns away, shoulders rolling back as he waves her over. “You’re welcome to look, f’ya want. Ain’t much, anyway.”

She takes the seat beside him with a giddy anticipation as he slides the thing across to her, and her breath catches in her throat.

She’d known the moment their eyes met that he’d been drawing _her_ , but this. Well. God. She’s staring down at her stack of papers in the picture, hair falling into her face, as her fingers curl around the handle of her coffee mug, and Beth has never seen herself look so pretty.

He shifts uncomfortably beside her. “Like I said, it’s not really -.”

“Are they _all_ like this?”

He shrugs. “Can look, if you want.”

She flips through a few more, taking in the careful details of facial expressions and the whimsical curl of his pencil marks around the more roughed out sketches, already contemplating how quickly she could get some of his work up in the gallery and how she’d fit it in with her other shows (there’s something in her that wants them up _now_ , next to that painting she loves so much, something familiar in the way his vision flows onto the paper) and she makes the connection only a moment before she notices it, the tightly scrawled initials in the corner of each sketch.

DD

Her eyes dart up, startled, and he gives her an uncomfortable glance back.

This was him. This was the man who had touched her heart with a few brush strokes as if he’d known her his whole life, had dug into the depths of her soul. This…

Was the man who had zero interest in being known, and Beth had practically mounted an invasion on the poor man without even realizing what she was doing.

“These are beautiful,” she tells him as she flips back to the unfinished drawing of herself.

“You’ve got a good face,” he mumbles out, seemingly annoyed with the admission, and Beth lets out a bark of laughter. He shoots her a half smile, and she tries to think of some way to bow out of this without making the gallery’s ghost artist so uncomfortable he never sends them another piece.

“They’re all great. I’d love to show them sometime.” It sounds great in her head, making him feel like she’s got no clue who he is, but it comes out pushy. Again. She takes another look at his sketch.

She can see it, the similarities to her favorite paintings in the swift and steady lines of her own face, eyes turned down, the shadows of her lashes curling across her cheeks, but there’s something different - infinitely more intimate, more private than the heavy stripes of color, something more deliberate than the paintings, and Beth almost aches when she finally hands the sketchbook back.

His eyes narrow as he takes her in.

“Sorry. God. I’m real pushy. My business partner is always telling me I need to be more tactful.”

“You get all your art buggin random strangers at coffee shops?” It should sound pointed, the way he words the comment, but Beth doesn’t feel her hackles raise, doesn’t feel like she’s being insulted.

She laughs. “Oh lord no. Mostly I scare people away when I do that.”

“I don’t scare easy.”

She shoots him a brilliant smile, studying him carefully. She and Carol have talked about him before, making up intricate backstories and trying to conjure up faces for him, and she’s surprised by how attractive he is, by how much the glimmer of a smile lights his eyes. He’s hardly what she’d call classically handsome, but there’s something in the turn of his lips and the whisper of confused amusement behind his eyes that draws Beth in.

“I didn’t mean to bug you,” she tells him eventually, and he scratches at the back of his neck as she moves to stand. “I’ll let you be, but I’m serious. If you ever feel like showing these, you should give me a call.” She hands him one of the business cards she keeps tucked into her pocket at all times, and he eyes her as he twirls it between his fingers. “It was nice to meet you.”

He makes no indication he means to respond, so on a sigh Beth turns to head back to her table.

The breeze is shuffling at her stack of papers when she returns, and she’s thankful she had the foresight to lay out her phone on top of them before getting into creepy mode. She sinks back into her seat on a groan, knowing full well that she’s made a damn fool of herself, and she’s just about ready to return to her _awful_ reports when a shadow stretches across her face. She glances up to see the man standing awkwardly before her, sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“You didn’t.” Her brow must furrow in confusion, because he gestures vaguely between the two of them. “Meet me.”

“Oh! Oh, God, I’m such a spaz. I just get so excited about seein’ someone’s art I get all twitterpated and forget normal human etiquette. I’m Beth. Beth Greene.”

It’s a subtle movement, but she notices the way he steps back just a hair, surprise in his eyes. He recognizes the name. He doesn’t say anything right away, and she’s pretty positive he’s just gonna turn away and disappear, but apparently he’s just chock full of surprises.

When he plops himself down in the seat next to her her eyes go wide. “I’m guessing you know who I am then.”

“I’m not a stalker,” is the first thing she blurts out, and she can feel her face burning. “No. I mean. I didn’t know. Until I saw your drawings, at least.”

He chuckles, glancing at the business card he’s still got twisting around his fingers. “Funny how that works.”

“God, I know you must have your reasons for not wanting to meet me, I swear to god I wasn’t, like, wandering the streets trying to find you. Not that I didn’t want to. To meet you. I mean, I did want to meet you, but I -.” She stops short. “I’m rambling.”

“You seem to do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t gotta keep apologizing.”

“Sorry,” she says before she can think better of it. His eyes glint as he shoots her an amused look, and Beth feels her blush all the way in her toes.

“S’nice to meet you, Beth Greene.”

 

\------

Daryl Dixon.

She thinks of little else throughout the rest of the day, remembering the way they’d sat quietly while he scribbled away, hair falling into his eyes while he sketched, a comfortable silence descending on them as the sun ticked away across the sky, how she’d eventually drawn him into quiet conversation once she’d finished up the last of her reports, how they’d talked for what seemed like hours about inconsequential things, and Beth can remember every word they’d said, every subtle expression on his face, and Carol has to snap her fingers at her during their client meeting to get her to focus.

He’s exactly what she’d hoped he’d be, and it terrifies her.

When she gets home she pulls out the easel she hasn’t used in what feels like years, charcoal staining her hands as she tries to draw him from memory, and god, it’s weird, _she’s_ weird, fixating on him like some teenaged girl with a celebrity crush. But its different. She _knows_ him, has seen his thoughts and fears and hopes in the lines of his work.  
She shakes herself out of her drawing frenzy at two in the morning, washes off the streaks of charcoal from her forehead and slips into an exhausted sleep.

She wakes in the morning ansty, and though she can’t remember she knows she dreamt of him.

Beth doesn’t tell Carol about their meeting. It feels...private, somehow, a secret she has to keep, even if only to keep up a show of her own sanity. She knows she has a tendency to fixate, and her mysterious DD has been that fixation for a good long while, but meeting him has made it ten times worse, because she’s seen the way his hands curl around graphite, seen the way his eyes narrow to slits when he’s focusing, seen the way his tongue works in his cheek when he’s studying something carefully, heard the way his laughter peels across the summer air.  
Her family and friends always show a kind of sad concern when she does this, and she understands it - her highs are always higher than they can climb, and her lows are lower than they can dig, and she knows (she knows) it’s not normal, but it’s _her_ and it’s probably never gonna change.

She just has to manage it.

(She hopes she can manage it)

\------

They’re like vultures, the visitors of her gallery, the regulars who snatch up pieces for their collections without even taking a step back to admire the beauty, and the random stragglers who wander in without any sort of intent and just meander without truly understanding.

There are a few people Beth enjoys seeing at the shows, and Lori Grimes definitely falls into that category.

Beth lets out a happy sigh as she excuses herself from schmoozing some high end art dealer with a stick up her ass to greet the woman, grinning at the waddle Lori has as she approaches. She’s got to be eight months into her pregnancy by now, and Beth has spent a lot of time giggling over all the cute little dresses she’s seen out shopping and the silly names they discuss for the little girl Lori could be having any day now.

"Hey there, stranger.”

Lori grins, hand rolling over her belly as she reaches out her free arm to hug Beth, and Beth feels the tension ebb from her shoulders. “God, it’s nice to see you,” Lori mutters, eyes drifting behind her to where Rick is bent on one knee to talk to their son Carl. She rolls her eyes. “Gives him the same lecture every single time, don’t touch, don’t yell, behave yourself.”

“Carl’s a good kid.”

“He’s a monster,” Lori tells her without batting an eyelash. “But he’s my little monster.”

Beth lets her lead the way as they make a curcuit around the showroom, and Beth feels that peacefulness wash over her in that way it only does around certain people, Carol and Maggie and Lori (and Daryl Dixon, god help her) and she lets Lori do the talking for them, greeting a few of the regular patrons as they study the wall of photographs she has displayed there.

“It’s a beautiful show,” she tells Beth, and Beth smiles. She’s proud of this one - the artist she and Carol had spoken to a month ago had had a wonderful portfolio, beautiful black and whites of the streets of Atlanta. There’s a dark and ominous feel to all of them, abandoned buildings and shady looking neglected alleys, overgrown lawns and amputated limbs curling around the edges of pictures, something dystopian in them that makes Beth wonder at the world. “A bit maudlin for my tastes, but you know how I like my flowers and sun rises.”  
“I think it’s kinda nice. Seein’ the dark and dirty parts of the world as something worth documenting.”

“You’re a bit strange, Beth Greene.” She says it with an aching fondness, and Beth feels her heart clench around the motherly smile Lori gives her, her fingers sliding along the scar on her wrist under the layers of bracelets she wears.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I hear you had an interesting encounter a while ago,” Lori says, and her mind flies immediately to Daryl. Her phone feels heavy in the back pocket of her jeans, and she shoots Lori a quizzical brow as she forces herself not to pull out the damn thing just to get a look at the last text she’d received a few hours before, some song lyric and a hazy picture of hands covered in green paint, and it feels weird to acknowledge it to someone else.

“Did you really run into him at the coffee bean?”

“Yeah. It was kind of an accident, but you know how I am when I see someone making art.”

Her friends smile is amused. “Oh, I know. So how’d it go?”

She’s fishing for details, which means either Rick had mentioned it in passing and moved right on, or Daryl had told her they’d met and left everything else out.

“It was nice. I got to see some of his sketches. They’re...different.”

“Good different?”

“Just different.”

Lori hums, low in her throat. “Daryl mentioned he might let Rick actually frame a few drawings for the gallery, which is interesting to me, because that man is more protective of his graphite than a dog with a bone.”

It’s the first she’s heard of it, but as much as they’ve talked over random texts, they don’t really talk about his art, too much. Beth’s terrified if he mentions it she’ll just get word vomit and scare him off with her crazed adoration, but thankfully he seems content to send her quotes with zero context and blurry shots of his studio. “That’d be nice.”

Lori’s look is curious, but she doesn’t press, and she moves on to the stormy weather they’ve been having without pause.

It gets late quickly, and Lori and the boys head out with the last of the stragglers. It doesn’t take long to pick up, and she and Carol leave around eleven with happy goodbyes.

Beth takes the walk home slowly. Shows always make her mind buzz with energy, and the wind down takes her a while, but thankfully its a nice night, the cicadas chirping away with the light traffic flying by on the roads, and Beth lets her mind drift.

Her phone buzzes just as she’s entering her building, and she manages to make it all the way to the elevator before her curiosity gets the better of her.

Something warm spreads in her belly when she catches sight of the readout.

_How’d it go?_

Her fingers tap out a reply as the old machinery lurches around her. 

_It was good. Got a few zombie apocalypse freaks raving about the photographs._

_This fascination w zombies has gone on way too long. Almost makes me wish the vamp thing was still going strong_

Beth can’t bite back the grin that rolls over her face as she unlocks the door to her apartment, and she types out some inane reply while she kicks off her shoes. It’s past midnight, and the hazy light drifting through her curtains illuminates her tiny kitchen while she pours herself a glass of water.

She doesn’t get a reply, which isn’t particularly out of the ordinary, and she shuffles about the apartment for a while, picking up the empty take out containers she’d been too lazy to take care of yesterday, tidying up the kitchen and slipping into her pjs.

She’s slipping under the covers when her ringtone startles her out of her wandering thoughts, and she glances at the readout curiously, her pulse jumping at the name flashing across her screen.

Beth waits until the fourth ring to answer.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Daryl’s voice is quiet, a soft lilting quality to it that makes Beth’s eyes drift low as she smiles into the dark. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and it gives her just enough time to start wondering. It’s the first time he’s ever called her, but despite the butterflies in her stomach she feels calmer than she has all night, the nerves and the excess energy drifting away as she curls herself up around her pillow.

“What’s up?”

She hears paper crumpling on the other end. “I’unno. Just. Wanted to say hi.” Her body warms at the thought, but she wonders at it. He’s been friendly and hilariously fun to talk to, but they’ve got a weird thing going, satellites drifting in and out of each others orbit with nothing of real importance shared between them. Still. Maybe he feels it too, this sense of peace that descends in the quiet space between them.

“Well. Hi.” He chuckles over the line. “Lori told me you’ve been talking about letting my grabby hands at some of your drawings.”

“When you put it like that it makes me question whether I should.”

They talk for hours, the conversation wandering from topic to topic without anything to link them, and Beth feels her eyes growing heavy as the night wears on, but she keeps forcing herself to stay awake, to enjoy the muted conversation and the way his soft drawl rolls over her skin, but eventually her eyes drag closed, and she’s out like a light before even bothering to say goodnight.

When she wakes up the next morning, the phone is plastered to the side of her head, and there’s a text from him blinking up at her that she focuses on with bleary eyes.

_You snore like a damn bovine with a head cold_

_It’s way too early in the morning for crappy metaphors, Daryl Dixon._

She leans over to plug the phone into the charger and curls back up under the covers, falling into a half-sleep as her neighbor bangs away in the bathroom, and when she blinks her eyes open a few hours later he’s sent her a ridiculous cartoon drawing of a cow holding a tissue to it’s nose, eyes red and ears droopy.

She can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

\------

Maggie calls on her birthday, singing to her loud and purposely off key, and they talk for a while about the gallery, about the farm, about their dad, and eventually the conversation drifts to how Beth has been doing lately. It irks her, sometimes, the way Maggie and all the rest of her friends and family get this worried edge to their voice, when they ask how she’s doing, like she’s a bomb waiting to go off, but she understands it, too. Swallowing a whole bottle of pills and then slicing up her wrist a month later when she was finally out of the hospital was enough of a cry for help, but she’s better, now. It’d taken a good long while, and her daddy had been furious and terrified when she’d left Senoia, but she’s found a home here in Atlanta, a joy in life she thinks she’d been missing after her mama died, a purpose, and _strength_ she hadn’t realized she could possess.

“You ever meet that artist you’ve been crushin’ on forever? The one with all those paintings you like?”

“I wasn’t crushin’ on anything or anyone. I just enjoy his art.”

“That’s not really an answer to my question.”

She blows it off, not yet ready to let Maggie know that she has met him, that he’s at least ten years older than her and probably has just as many skeletons in his closet as she does, that she barely knows a thing about him but she can’t help feeling like he’s closer to her than any other human being ever was or could be. She knows how that conversation goes.

But this is different. Something has settled inside her, that buzzing anxiety that always used to eat away at her peace and quiet has slipped away, making room for a muted comfort in her own skin, the kind she’s always strived for but never really captured. She’s seen him in person once, heard his voice four times, now, but there’s something that keeps drawing her closer, spinning her into his orbit.

(Maggie thinks this is unhealthy, the way she creates these epic couplings in her mind, the friends she gives too much to, the men in her life she holds too closely, but this is _different_. Beth knows it.

When she tells her sister goodbye a while later, she promises to call her father, and the rest of the day whizzes by - Carol bakes her a cake that they eat, just the two of them, still in the cake pan with massive spoons while they go over the layout for the next show; Lori sends her flowers, her brother Shawn sends her a dancing e-card and a picture of his three-year-old mid tantrum because she didn’t get to send Aunt Bethie the singing Christmas moose card she’d wanted to.

Beth gets a text from Daryl in the early evening.

_What are you up to tonight?_

_Nothing much_ she sends back. _Just hanging out_

_You wanna come over?_

Her heart skips a beat and she reads it over three more times before she admits she’s not seeing things. Its funny, but in all this she’s had no real clue what their relationship is, what Daryl thinks of her. Is she some kind of friend? More like a coworker? Does he actually maybe get the same feeling she does when she’s talking to him, like she’s finally fitting uncooperative pieces of the Beth puzzle together?

She doesn’t know.

She also hasn’t seen him in three months, since that first time. She wonders if his hair has gotten longer, if, now that summer is waning behind them he’s letting that little bit of scruff grow out. If he’s actually as handsome as she remembers him being.

_What, like, now?_

_Yeah, have Scotty beam ya up. _he sends, and then a moment later _An hour or so?___

___Sure._ _ _

___Don’t sound too excited, Greene, I might think you were overeager, or something_ _ _

__She rolls her eyes even as she takes stock of the outfit she’s got on and the state of her hair, and they work out a time once she’s got the address. She’d worn the slightly more professional jeans today, and scrounged up a cute little button up from the depths of her closet for work that morning, but her hair is beyond help, so she braids it back while her heart pitters out an erratic rhythm in her chest and sets off before she can worry too much about her appearance._ _

__\------_ _

__When he swings open the door he’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and there’s some heavy drum beat echoing down the hallway. His hair is cropped short, no longer hanging in his eyes, and sticking up every which way, like he’s been running his hands through it for most of the day (he has - there’s a streak of purple paint in it at the crown of his head, and Beth bites back a laugh when she sees it), but he’s got a beard growing in, and he smiles bright and wide when he waves her inside, the muscles of his arms bunching around the sleeves of his (clean) white shirt._ _

__“C’mon in.”_ _

__He leads her off down the hall, and she gets a quick look through into a sparkling clean kitchen and a modest living room before he’s leading her up a winding staircase to the second floor._ _

__The second level is an open floor plan, and her cheeks heat when she notices the bed tucked into the far corner behind a screen, shafts of late summer sum falling across the neatly arranged comforter from a large bay window._ _

__The rest of the place is a disaster, canvases stacked up against every available surface, splatters of dried paint on the floor, a few side tables cluttered with murky glasses of water or mineral spirits, paint brushes and sticks of charcoal strewn around them, rolls of cotton duck and stacks of 1x2's up against the wall, and he's got a nervous hand scratching at his neck as she takes the place in._ _

__"It's, uh... Well I'd like to say it's messier in usual but that'd be a bald faced lie."_ _

__"It's _fantastic_ ," she tells him. The room smells faintly of oils and whatever wild flower she'd seen growing outside the long row of houses and the sunlight filtering in from the floor length windows behind her gives the place a musty glow. She can't decide whether she's more nervous or excited to be in this space, the realization that this was his studio eclipsing her thoughts of the bed in the corner - _this_ was far more intimate than that._ _

__He shifts awkwardly next to her, and her eyes dart towards him only to land on the table beside him, where a small mason jar is overflowing with arugala and belladonna._ _

__There's a small, handmade card tucked up against the jar int a familiar scrawl, and she shoots him a grin. "How'd you know?"_ _

__"Rick mentioned it."_ _

__She hums as she slides around him, bending to smell the little bouquet. "These look exactly like the ones I from the park I told you about."_ _

__She can't fight back another grin when he ducks his head, ears going red. "That's cause they are."_ _

__"I'm pretty sure that's illegal," she tells him on a laugh. "Or at least frowned upon."_ _

__He shrugs, glancing at her as she sets the jar back down. "I live on the edge."_ _

__"Yeah, you're a regular societal terror, stealing perrenials from the local parks."_ _

__They grin at each other in silence for a moment before he blinks, waving a wide arm out. "Well, go on. Get your creep on, I know you want to."_ _

__They make small talk as she rifles gleefully through stacks of unfinished paintings, and he tidies up around her, his eyes burning holes into her back the whole while._ _

__She _knows_ this is a big deal - even Lori's never seen his studio. She's not sure Rick has, come to think of it. She _knows_ the man is private and incredibly particular about people in his space, and more than homes or bedrooms, the place where artists _create_ is special, almost a glimpse into a person's soul._ _

__It takes her a good long while to make her rounds towards the easel set up near the back of the studio, a light tarp hanging over it, and she's halfway to swinging it up before Daryl notices._ _

__"Wait, thats -."_ _

__The tarp flutter to the floor quietly, and Beth feels her throat tighten as she takes it in. It's _her_._ _

__It's been done in a myriad of bright color, her face tilted just slightly away, large doe eyes gleaming in mirth, lips curled up in a soft grin, her hair falling over her shoulder and the straps of the bright red sundress she'd worn on their first meeting peeking out behind the strands, and she has never, ever felt more beautiful in her life (funny how that keeps happening with him), staring at the painting._ _

__It could fit easily into any number of his other works, but there's something more carefully controlled about this one than some of his other profiles, something sweeter and achingly familiar, and when she turns to look at him he's staring right at her, the tentative question in his eyes the same one she's been wondering herself._ _

__"Oh," she says, eyes wide, and he shuffles nervously._ _

__"Happy...uh. Happy Birthday."_ _

__She takes a flying leap into his arms, and it's a testament to his own balance that they don't go toppling to the floor. His hands curl around her with a tentative awkwardness that's beyond endearing, and she clings for a good long while, until she's sure she's not gonna start crying on him, and when she pulls away his hand drifts across her waist._ _

__"I could kiss you right now, Daryl Dixon."_ _

__He gives her a deer-in-headlights look, and Beth hurries to back track._ _

__"No, I mean. Not that - I mean, it'd be -." Oh, screw it. She knows this man, and that painting is practically skywriting, in terms of declarations. "I mean I'd like to. Right now."_ _

__"Yeah?"_ _

__His thumb is warm against the curve of her spine and she inches closer again, gaze darting up to meet his, and Beth nods firmly as she lets a hand trail up towards his jawline. "Mmhm."_ _

__"I'm not gonna say no."_ _

__"Oh, you're not gonna say _no_ , what a resounding affirmation."_ _

__"You talk too damn much, Greene."_ _

__She opens her mouth to respond and then snaps it back shut just to prove him wrong, but his head in bent close to hers and she's having trouble focusing as their noses brush._ _

__"You know," he says, his voice almost a whisper against her cheek. "For putting such an immediate timeframe on your promise, the payoff is still -."_ _

__She leans up on tiptoes, cutting him short as their lips meet, a soft brush at first, until he lets out a low, gutteral noise that shivers right through her, arms dragging her in as he slants his head just right, and Beth loses track of anything but he stretch of his lips and the slide of his tongue._ _

__\-------_ _

__"Not that one."_ _

__Carol and Rick both groan as the stack of 'nos' grows ever higher, and even Beth is getting into impatient mode, but Daryl is _belligerently_ picky about the drawings he wants up in the gallery, and she gets it, she does, knows some of these drawings hide his deepest desires and his worst fears, but he'd promised not to get too particular and they have a total of four pieces so far that have made it into the 'yes' pile, and exactly two maybes._ _

__Carol gives them both a put upon sigh. "You know, I think I liked you better when you refused to show your face. I think even Rick can attest to the fact that you've only gotten _more_ protective of your work."_ _

__He shoots her an ornery glare that makes Carol chuckle, and Beth catches his fingers and curls them into her palm. He is more protective of them, but so is she, because _she_ is in them - every late night phone call or random text, every kiss or smile they've shared between them hides in the lines of those drawings, and there are some he just doesn't want the world to see, doesn't want to share._ _

__Rick slides another one out, and Daryl studies it for a long moment, the curve of a shoulder and the long line of a neck cutting across the page, the curl of an ear and a waterfall of hair edging along the side, and she can see the internal debate waging before he tucks his tongue into his cheek. "That one's fine."_ _

__Carol whoops happily and Daryl rolls his eyes at the theatrics, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a tiny smile, and his hold on Beth's hand tightens for a moment._ _

__\------_ _

__The sunlight momentarily blinds her as she blinks open her eyes, and she lets out a disappointed huff as her hand casts out only to find cold sheets for company._ _

__She tilts her head up, sheets pooling around her waist, as she hears the familliar scritch of pencil to paper._ _

__"Stay still. M'losing the light."_ _

__He's gon on nothing but a pair of low slung boxers, as Beth studies him his eyes dart with intense focus on her collarbone before flicking back to the easel next to the bed, his torso covered in faded scars, his hair falling in his face again (he needs to cut it, especially with her whole family coming down in tow days time for the show)._ _

__"What?"_ _

__He glances away from his drawing, staring her down, and she lets her soft smile widen. "Nothin'."_ _

__"Mmhm. It's never nothin' with you."_ _

__"What's with the early draw session?"_ _

__He shrugs, eyes falling back to the easel, but his hands are unmoving. "Couldn't sleep." She shifts carefully, turning to give him a concerned look. "You still snore like a freight train."_ _

__Beth groans. "It's still too early for your awful metaphors."_ _

__"M'a painter, not a poet."_ _

__"I _know_."_ _

__He scratches away for a few more minutes before abandoning the drawing, ans she tugs him up as he slinks back into bed._ _

__"Having nightmares again?"_ _

__He shakes his head, smiling at her as he smooths his hand over her belly. "Nah. Wasn't a bad sleeplessness. Just...got more energy than I know what to do with."_ _

__"You should take up running, instead of sketching nudes of your sleeping girlfriend."_ _

__"Sounds like a miserable alternative."_ _

__She hums as he leans in for a kiss, giggling into his mouth as his fingers tickle across her side. "Stop," she mumbles into his hair as he licks a trail up her neck. "We've got way too much to do today."_ _

__"Not my fault you decided to have your own show the same week you moved all your shit in here."_ _

__"Not _my_ fault you asked me to move in the same month we decided to do the show," she tells him, and he sighs, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek._ _

__"Tired of sleepin' alone."_ _

__There's a hundred swift comebacks in her mind, but she ignores them all in favor of pressing a soft kiss to the palm he has curling around her neck, because it's a hard fought admission from him, a lifetime of holding back and keeping to himself falling away as he digs out a life with her, with her friends and the family he's a little terrfied to meet. ( _I ain't afraid of nothin._ he says, even as he gets a nervous tick every time she mentions her father)_ _

__"C'mon," she says, leaning up to pull herself out of bed, and his eyes follow her as she slips into the robe hanging off the screen next to it. "Got shit to do today, Mr. Dixon."_ _

__He groans dramatically, hand over his face as she tugs lightly on his foot, and he swings up to chase after her, twirling her around for a quick kiss before he disappears down the stairs in front of her. "Yes ma'am," he calls up, and Beth trails after him, unable to keep the wide smile from her face as she hears pots and pans clanging away in the kitchen. ZZ_ _


End file.
